Jules sipped her warm drink. She could justify her decisions any way she wanted, but she still felt like shit. Rhianna would never see her actions as the lesser of two evils, as an attempt to shield both of them as best she could. Rhianna had to live with the consequences. Her rapist was set free, and she knew, just as Jules did, that he had not seen the error of his ways.
Oatman was only three hundred miles from her bungalow in the Hollywood Hills. Maybe she would just get in her car and make the drive. If she showed up on Rhianna’s doorstep and asked for ten minutes of her time, would she be turned away? She could be in Oatman by nine a.m. if she left soon.
The thought of seeing Rhianna made her quiver, and Jules felt demeaned by this involuntary response. Was the face slap not enough to quash her Pavlovian arousal? Did she need to subject herself to a further humiliating episode? Where was her pride? She vacillated, teetering at the periphery of a helplessness she found unacceptable. That this part of her psyche could exist, despite every accomplishment, every triumph, appalled her. She did not crawl for any woman, under any circumstances.
Feeling disgusted with herself, she considered a painting on the wall, an oil reproduction of Gustav Klimt’s Goldfish. She saw just enough of Rhianna in the red-haired nymph provocatively displaying her rear to recognize how morose she had become since the episode in the parking garage. She was pining. Feeling sorry for herself. She felt diminished, uninspired by her work, depressed by a soul-shrinking vision of the future.
She had a terrible fear that she would turn forty, or fifty, and look back on a life shaped by a wrong decision she would regret forever. Cowardice was unbecoming in anyone. In herself, it was unforgivable. This is not over, she thought. Rhianna would probably refuse to hear her out. Maybe she did not believe, as Jules did, that they owed it to themselves to find out who they could be to each other. But Jules was not ready to give up. To live with herself, she would have to try again.
Go back to bed, she thought, but her feet carried her to her workstation and she logged into her e-mail to see whether anything urgent had arrived since the previous afternoon. The messages were routine. Various motions copied for her to vet. Tedious reports. Briefs. An indictment or two.
She clicked on a message from Gilbert Desjardines.
Word is your man Brigham put a tail on Ms. Lamb. Damonique knows the dude—Notorious Hard. He’s got some juice in the neighborhood. Sounds like he gave out a name and address. Arizona. That’s what she heard.
Jules stared at the screen and listened to the labored hum of her computer, a desktop that had so far cheated its planned obsolescence. She kept meaning to replace it, but she never found the time to surf through computer sites, comparing alternatives.
She read the message again, this time without letting her thoughts wander. The full impact of the words hit her. Werner Brigham now knew Rhianna’s new name and her location. It would only be a matter of time before he decided to renew their acquaintance.
*
Rhianna waved Bonnie and Lloyd farewell, hoisted Alice higher on her hip, and tugged at Hadrian’s collar.
“Let’s go see the lambs,” she told her charge.
Percy waved as she approached the barn. “Howdy.” He knew her real name now, but he hadn’t tried it out yet.
Rhianna smiled. “Guess why we’re here.”
Chuckling, Percy opened the doors to the lamb pen. “Milk’s warm,” he said, dipping a ladle into a small heating vat.
Alice’s chubby little legs wiggled, and Hadrian swung his head from side to side to dislodge the stalactites of drool weighing from his mouth.
Percy filled a plastic nursing bottle and pulled a rubber nipple over the top.
“That’s not for you to drink,” Rhianna said as Alice clutched the lamb feeder to her chest. They’d been through this routine a few times since the six orphaned lambs arrived.
Percy filled several more bottles and carried them over to the front of the pen, where he rigged them on a suspended frame for the lambs to enjoy. He lifted the smallest of the woolly creatures over the gate and sat down on a bench nearby, gently holding it on his knee so that Alice could offer the milk. As the lamb suckled and wagged its tail, Hadrian patrolled the area for droppings to sniff. When he’d snuffled all he wanted, he plodded to Rhianna’s side and leaned against her, crooning with pleasure as she scratched his back.
“Got the new targets.” Percy pointed at a bundle of male half-silhouettes propped against the barn wall. Each had a bull’s-eye over the chest.
“Maybe I’ll try the .38,” Rhianna said.
She hoped there would be no need to become an expert at putting bullets into the heart zone of Percy’s new targets. Two of Lloyd’s shady acquaintances had gone to Denver to have a conversation with Werner Brigham.
Rhianna wished she could be there to see the expression on his face when a couple of menacing thugs told him it was time to act right. She could almost see him licking his thick lips. He would probably offer them money to go away. Bonnie said, if he did, they were going to rough him up and talk about what their boss wanted them to do if he wasn’t cooperative.
Rhianna adjusted the angle of the bottle so that Alice could hold it more easily and bent down to kiss the little girl’s soft hair. Earlier this morning, she’d been jumpy as the Mosses packed their Lexus SUV, preparing to leave, but she felt calm now. Percy was going to sleep in a room off the den, so she wouldn’t be alone in the house, and she would have Hadrian on her bed. He couldn’t hear and his sight was almost gone, but Bonnie was convinced the ageing mastiff would defend his family.
Lloyd had unlocked the gun safe and put Percy in charge of the weapons. Intellectually, Rhianna had accepted that the chances of Brigham finding her and breaking into the house were remote, but her emotions were still raw and her flesh still crawled every time she thought about him sitting in the courtroom ogling her like a hyena. She kept her borrowed .22 in a concealed cavity Lloyd had built in her headboard. All she had to do was slip a hand behind her mattress and the gun was sitting there, loaded and ready.
Percy touched her shoulder lightly. “Looks like she’s done.”
The lamb was snuggling back in his arms and Alice had dropped the empty bottle.
“I was daydreaming,” Rhianna said. Knowing the wizened ranch hand would get a kick out of her anger, she added, “Actually I was thinking about blowing Werner Brigham’s brains out.”
“Now you’re talking.” His eyes glowed like the deep blue prairie sky.
“Thanks for teaching me how to shoot, Percy.”
He got to his feet and lowered the lamb down into the pen. “You’ll get there,” he said.
Rhianna grinned over this fulsome praise. Percy seldom remarked on her efforts, probably because she hadn’t been able to hit a target twenty feet away until the past two days. She bent to pick Alice up when she heard a car and took the toddler by the hand instead. The Mosses didn’t get a lot of visitors, unless they were hosting a party. Parcel deliveries only occurred in the afternoons.
“You expecting company?” Percy’s hand was on his holster. He sidled toward the barn door.
Rhianna stayed behind him, her heart beating hard. “No.”
With infinite caution, they both peered out from the shadowed interior.
A dark gray Mercedes CLS550 idled in front of the house. The driver was slouched over the wheel.
“That him?” Percy asked, drawing his gun.
“No.” Rhianna lifted Alice and said, “Would you please take her out back to the playground for a few minutes? I’ll handle this.”
Percy holstered his weapon, and Rhianna transferred Alice to his shoulders for a piggyback ride. As the two set off around the corner of the barn, she slid her hand under Hadrian’s collar and crossed the yard to stand a few feet from the car.
Something was wrong, she thought as soon as she saw Jules’s pale face. Her throat dried with apprehension. At the same time, her limbs quickened with hungry life and a red-
hot current skittered upward from her core. She knew she was blushing and immediately looked away, but the telltale color invaded her cheeks regardless.
“Rhianna.” Jules started toward her. “Thank God.”
She looked exhausted and her unease was palpable. Rhianna could not summon the will to ask her to leave. At a loss, she asked, “What are you doing here? Did you drive from Denver?”
“No, I’m back in L.A.,now.” Jules aimed a SmartKey at the Merc, locking it by remote. Her eyes glowed onyx against the weary pallor of her face. “Can we talk inside?”
Rhianna wanted to muster anger but she couldn’t; in her heart, she was crazily happy to see Jules. “Okay,” she agreed.
Jules’s gaze swung back toward the road.
Rhianna felt painfully conscious of Jules behind her as she opened the door. She took several nerve-wracking steps into the hall, and the atmosphere in the room suddenly felt airless and oppressive. Her mouth got even drier. Her gaze was drawn to the blue-black sweep of Jules’s eyelashes and the smooth translucence of her temples. She yearned to take a step forward and fall into her arms.
Gesturing lamely in the direction of the kitchen, she asked, “Would you like something to drink?”
Jules glanced around as though taking an inventory of her surroundings. “Thanks. I need to wash my hands. That was some drive.”
“There’s a half-bath this way,” Rhianna said, embarrassed that she hadn’t offered this small courtesy in the first place.
She led Jules past the formal living room and opened the bathroom door. They faced each other, but did not touch. A shiver played down Rhianna’s spine. She thought about Bonnie’s words. Werner Brigham had harmed Jules, too. The damage was plain in her shadowed, uncertain gaze.
Regret chewed at Rhianna. She tried to harden her heart, reminding herself that this was the woman who had sold her out, who had tried to give her money, as if that could make things right between them. But she could not shut out the memory of Jules’s touch, the sense that this woman already knew her better than almost anyone. Jules had invited her to be herself as no one had before. Rhianna wasn’t even sure if she knew who that self was, entirely, yet Jules seemed to. Should they just throw that away on Brigham’s account?
“Can I say something?” Jules touched Rhianna’s arm only for a second, but the contact tripped nerves in a chain reaction that surged all the way to her center.
Short of breath, Rhianna managed a little nod. A dull ache compressed her throat, thwarting her attempt to swallow. Her gaze settled on Jules’s mouth and she could not look away.
“That first day in court, I asked my boss to release me from the case.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“I’m not making excuses for myself,” Jules said. “But I want you to understand something. Brigham would probably have been acquitted, whether I defended him or not.”
“What are you saying?”
“My boss, Carl Hagel, has never lost a case. He would have taken my place. And he’s not the most sensitive guy.”
Rhianna struggled to absorb the information. She had not entertained the possibility that Jules had tried to step down, or that Brigham would still have won even if Jules had declined to defend him. She felt dazed.
“None of us can ever be a hundred percent certain which way a jury will swing, but—”
“You don’t think I had much of a chance.”
“Sometimes you have to pick your fights.” Jules’s tone was resigned but there was also an edge of ferocity.
Disconcerted, Rhianna watched the muscles work in her cheeks. Her face was already lean, but the narrow indentations on either side seemed more defined. She’d lost weight. Unable to resist, Rhianna touched her, just the smallest brush of fingertips near her serious mouth. “I’m glad you came.”
Something seemed to fracture in Jules’s composure. Her pupils dilated, engulfing the indigo-etched slate of her eyes. With a soft groan, she reached for Rhianna. “I’ve missed you.”
Rhianna could feel her defenses crumbling. “I’ve missed you, too.”
They fell almost drunkenly against each other, surrendering to a kiss so desperate there was no room for doubt about where they were headed next. No one had ever kissed Rhianna the way Jules did. Her mouth staked an insistent erotic claim, making promises Rhianna knew she could fulfill. Their tongues stroked and coaxed, deeper and harder until Rhianna could not stay upright. She felt drugged. Her pulse slowed to a languorous rhythm and the blood felt hot and heavy in her veins.
Jules raised her lips just far enough from Rhianna’s to ask huskily, “Where’s your room?”
Rhianna drew back, knowing where this was headed. “We can’t.” She caressed Jules’s nape beneath the compact ponytail. “Not yet.”
Jules sighed with wry humor. “I knew it was too good to be true.”
“I’m a nanny,” Rhianna explained, “and the little girl I take care of is playing out back with our ranch hand.”
Jules transformed right in front of her. The dazed craving left her expression and she was instantly businesslike. “Get them indoors.”
“Why?” Rhianna asked.
Jules took her face gently between her palms. “Because Brigham is on his way here.”
*
Werner wrapped his fingers over the linen-textured handle of his favorite dagger. Named the Reaper by its creator, Jay Fisher—custom knife-maker extraordinaire—the weapon was a sleek-bladed tactical punch/pull knife designed for a quick kill of painful disablement.
He would probably try it out on the dog, first, Werner decided. The animal was well past its prime and of no use to anyone. He would be doing the owners a favor. People had trouble letting go of pets and Werner could understand their reservations. A dog offered loyalty and devotion for the whole of its life, and the owner did not want to betray that trust. But people were weak and selfish. Werner had seen the chubby housewife who employed Rhianna. Had she asked herself if her dog wanted to spend the rest of its days limping around half-blind? Werner had his doubts.
He slid the Reaper back into its black leather sheath and fastened the retainer. He would ensure the death was quick and merciful. It gave him no pleasure to kill an animal. He was not a sicko.
“Did you say ten thousand?” Mr. Entwhistle asked. “You want to rent my shed for ten thousand dollars?”
“I do,” Werner confirmed. “The one nearest the road.”
He pointed to a run-down structure on a rise west of the ranch house. Its filthy rear window offered an unmatched view of the property next door. Werner would be able to see who came and went, what that beanpole ranch hand was doing and when he retired for the night, and which lights were on in the main house.
He would choose his moment, and this time he would not fail.
Chapter Fifteen
So, you see, I don’t think we have anything to worry about,” Rhianna said brightly. “Bonnie says they’re professionals.”
Jules frowned. “Let me get this straight. Your boss sent hired muscle to scare Brigham off?”
“They left two days ago,” Rhianna said.
“Any word from them yet?”
Rhianna shook her head. “Not that I know of.”
“He was already gone when they got there, maybe.” Percy flipped the cap off another bottle of beer.
“We need to find out,” Jules said. “Can you call your boss?”
“Sure can.” Percy took a cell phone from the pocket of his plaid shirt.
As he made the call, Rhianna got to her feet and padded into the den to retrieve a Cabbage Patch Kid from Hadrian. He never chewed on Alice’s toys; he just drowned them in slobber. She returned the doll and said, “This baby needs clean clothes now.”
She suspected Alice had engineered the situation herself so that she would have a reason to choose new garments for her doll. Beaming, the toddler opened the trunk in one corner of her playpen and extracted a pair of sequined overalls and a marabou-trimmed sweater, a
recent gift from one of the showgirls Bonnie knew.
As Rhianna helped change the doll’s outfit, she heard Percy say, “Both of them?” His weathered features were screwed up like he was squinting into the sun. He said, “No one’s getting hurt.” After a gruff good-bye, he put the phone away.
“Well?” Rhianna asked.
“They’re in the hospital.”
Jules stared at him unflinchingly. “What happened?”
“They both took bullets. One guy had knife wounds, too. I bet they didn’t think he’d be armed.”
Rhianna returned to the table. “I said he had a knife, and no one believed me.”
“When did they attack him?” Jules asked.
“The night they got there.”
“Well, that’s a felony, so he probably left immediately,” Jules said. “Even if he drove instead of flying, he could be here by now.”
“If he’s in town, someone will know,” Rhianna said. “Around here, people notice strangers.”
In Denver, Brigham could blend in, but in Oatman, a tall, pasty-faced man slouching along the street in a high-priced suit would draw attention to himself.
“I could ride into town,” Percy volunteered. “Ask around.”
“That would be helpful,” Jules said. “He drives a Lincoln Town Car with tinted windows. I printed copies of his picture before I came.” She placed her briefcase on the table and took out a file. “Mug shots and publicity photos. Help yourself.”
Percy pored over a couple of images. “That’s a mummy’s boy,” he observed perceptively.
Flicking through the stack with obvious distaste, Jules said, “If he wasn’t a blimp, he could look like John Wayne.”
Rhianna said, “I didn’t think he had it in him to shoot at a couple of tough guys. I thought he’d give up.”
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